What Dreams May Come (film)

What Dreams May Come is a 1998 film about a man who dies and finds himself in a heaven more amazing than he could have ever dreamed of, but without his wife, who killed herself after he died. He decides to risk eternity in hell for the small chance that he will be able to bring her back to heaven.

Is that a kind of occupational hazard of soul mates — one's not much without the other?

What some folks call impossible, is just stuff they haven't seen before.

A whole human life is just a heartbeat here in Heaven. Then we'll all be together forever.

That's when I realized I'm part of the problem. Not because I remind you. But because I couldn't join you. So I left you alone. Don't give up, okay?

There's a man Ian never got to know, the man he was growing up to be. He's a good-looking clear-eyed fella... about 25. I can see him. He's the type of guy men want to be around, because he has integrity, you know? He has character. You can't fake that. And he's a guy women want to be around, too. Because there's tenderness in him... respect... and loyalty, and courage. And women respond to that. Makes him a terrific husband, this guy. I see him as a father. That's where he really shines. See, when he looks in his kid's eyes and that kid knows that his dad really, really sees him... he sees who he is. Then that child knows that he is an amazing person. He's quite a guy... that he'll never get to meet. I wish I had.

If I was going through fucking HELL, I'd only want one person in the whole goddamn world by my side.

To Ian

What's true in our minds is true, whether some people know it or not.

Good people end up in Hell because they can't forgive themselves. I know I can't. But I can forgive you.

I found you in Hell, don't you think I can find you in Jersey!?

Sometimes, when you win, you lose.

He was a coward! Being strong, not giving up, it was just his place to hide. He pushed away the pain so hard, disconnected himself from the person he loved the most... Sometimes, when you win, you lose.

I'm sorry, babe, but there's some things I have to say. I've only got a few moments left. I'm sorry for all the things I'll never give you. I'll never buy you another meatball sub with extra sauce — that was a big one! I'll never make you smile. I just wanted us to be old together, just two old farts laughin' at each other as our bodies fell apart, together at the end by that lake in your painting. That was our Heaven, see? There's lots of things to miss: books, naps, kisses, and fights! God, we had some great ones. Thank you for those. Thank you for every kindness. Thank you for our children. For the first time I saw them. Thank you for being someone I was always proud to be with. For your guts. For your sweetness. For how you always looked, for how I always wanted to touch you. You were my life. I apologize for every time I failed you. Especially this one.

A whole family lost to car crashes. Enough to make a person buy a bike.

Dear Diary, I am writing in your bullshit pages because my shrink is crazier than I am. He thinks you're therapy. He figures if two babies can hammer me into a Psycho ward, what will I do with this? He is so stupid. He's so stupid that he thinks he pulled me through the breakdown when it was Christy. Always. Only Chris. I was looking through his postcards. Paintings were his obsession. He used art as another way to love me, to help me. To keep us always together.

Chris, "here" is big enough for everyone to have their own private universe.

Thought is real. Physical is the illusion. Ironic, huh?

Your brain is meat, and rots and disappears. Do you really think that's all there was to you? Like you're in your house right now. You're in your house, that doesn't mean you are your house. House falls down, you get out and walk away.

The old baggage, old roles of authority, who's the teacher, who's the father, gets in the way of who we really are to each other.

Annie: Can I sit here?

Chris: Actually, no. Two years ago, I reserved this specific area.

Annie: What if I say please?

Chris: That's the one exception.

[Flashback — Chris and Marie are playing chess]

Marie: [looks at a cardboard cutout of Heaven] Is this where we go when we die?

Chris: It's a dream, baby. It's a beautiful one, but you know dreams...

Marie: I know, aren't real. I know.

Chris: [glances at his watch] It's after midnight.

Marie: I haven't won yet.

Chris: It's your first time.

Marie: No, I like that I haven't won yet. Means you're not cheating. And when I win, I win. I just want to play 'til I do. Unless you want to stop.

Chris: No. Let's play 'til you win.

[back to the present…]

Chris: She died three months later. We played every night. Meant the world to me. But she never won.

Leona: Where were you just now? Your mind's been wondering all afternoon.

Chris: Thinking of someone.

Leona: Your wife must have loved her children very much.

Chris: Very much. But you don't have to break in half to love somebody.

Leona: Do you wanna see others? Perhaps the city?

Chris: I would, but travel makes me nauseous.

Albert: So what is the "me"?

Chris: My brain I suppose.

Albert : Your brain? Your brain is a body part. Like your fingernail or your heart. Why is that the part that's you?

Chris: Because I have sort of a voice in my head, the part of me that thinks, that feels, that is aware that I exist at all.

Albert : So if you're aware you exist, then you do. That's why you're still here.

Chris: I need Annie.

Albert : That'll change in time.

Chris: Oh, come on Einstein! Time's not on my watch anymore. Time does not exist here. And wherever it went, it's not going to make me need Annie any less.

Albert:Each of us has an instinct that there is a natural order to our journey. And Annie's violated that. She won't face it. She won't realize, accept, what she's done. And she will spend eternity playing that out.

Chris: You're still saying she's in Hell...

Albert: Everyone's Hell is different. It's not all fire and pain. The real Hell is your life gone wrong.

Albert: You don't understand.

Chris: It's not about understanding — it's about not giving up!

Chris: Where is God in all of this?

Albert: Oh, He's up there. Somewhere... shouting down that He loves us. Wondering why we can't hear Him. You think?

The Tracker: Anyone ever tell you too much persistence can get kind of stupid?

Chris: Constantly.

The Tracker: I hear the same thing.

The Tracker: We'll find her. But when you find her, nothing will make her recognize you. Nothing will break her denial. It's stronger than her love. In fact, reinforced by her love. You can say everything you long to say, including goodbye, even if she can't understand it, and you'll have the satisfaction that you didn't give up. That has to be enough.

Chris: You just get me there, I'll decide what's enough.

The Tracker: You called your son Albert. Who is that?

Chris: First doctor I interned under. He was like a father to me.

The Tracker: Ah. His words were gold. A brilliant mind. Do you recall what he practiced before he turned to pediactrics?

Chris: Child psychia-...

The Tracker: ...psychiatry. Yeah. And he always was a slow reader. But these... [indicating his glasses] used to be rimless, and the rest of me... used to be black. Do you know why we choose to look so different, me and the children?

Chris: Package doesn't count? One's as good as the other?

The Tracker: Oh, no. The old baggage, old roles of authority, who's the teacher, who's the father, gets in the way of who we really are to each other.

Annie: So you reconciled. That's very romantic. But she still killed herself. In the end she gave up.

Chris: There's nothing wrong with that.

Annie: Her husband didn't think so.

Chris: He was a coward! Being strong, not giving up, it was just his place to hide. He pushed away the pain so hard he disconnected himself from the person he loved most. [pause] Sometimes when you win, you lose.